Seasons of Change
by lizinfected
Summary: “How do you measure the space between now and then?” Call it a sequel. Call it a continuation. Or- call it a beginning. I wanted to write about Rent; what happens after the stage lights go out. The characters are real in our minds and hearts, after all...
1. Fresh Air 1

_**If you've gotten this far- welcome!** Having been doing theatre so many years, it's a damn shame that I've never seen Rent until this past week. Of course I loved it, and was happy to join the cult. Still, being new...forgive me if I make a few mistakes in the canon. Let me know! Also, I'm trying to follow, in my chapters, the Broadway musical number list- thought I'd clue you in. ;)_

_**Rated M** for future scenes of sexiness._

_**Disclaiming Stuff:** Obviously I don't own Rent. Yada, yada..._

_**Introduction** **that was too long for the actual introduction**: Evolution de Boheme! To contentment, resentment, jealousy, creativity. To learning, page turning, coaster rides and changing tides. To friendship, kinship, take out and making out. To napping on the floor. To embarrassment, fulfillment, technological advances, romances, last changes. To always wanting more._

Mark dug through his pockets until his fingers closed around a god-knows-how-old piece of gum. He popped it in his mouth and chewed. It was about noon, and he was hungry. Only two weeks without a job, and already his carefully saved cash was gone. Mark wondered how he'd managed this way before. It was a kind of torture- his stomach aching from hunger, the shame he felt at being such a damn failure. What twenty six year old guy couldn't keep a job? What twenty six year old guy had to take charity from his ex girlfriend and her rich, lesbian partner? For the first time in years, the video camera hanging from his shoulder felt like heavy, a burden.

Two hours ago he'd "stepped out" for some "fresh air". It seemed that was all he ever did now. Wake up, eat a bag of peanuts or something for breakfast, then make some excuse to escape his loft-turned-love shack. It was becoming unbearable being inside. _Roger and Mimi. _The first few months their relationship was refreshing, even cute. The next few months, it became normal, everyday life. The next two years- steadily more and more painful. Mark new it was immature to be so jealous of his friends' happiness, but it was about time for him to find his own…wasn't it? Mark deserved that much, didn't he? The past few gloomy days, he was beginning to doubt even that.

Mark looked up from his shoddy shoes tapping the pavement and realized he was back at his doorstep. He sighed. It was starting to get uncomfortable outside, anyway. Hot, muggy, smelly. Mark stepped over the used condom near the dying foliage and walked back inside, up the stairs. There were whispers coming from inside the apartment. Mark stopped, his hand hesitating over the sliding door's handle. He could catch a few snatches of whispered conversation.

"….I've been feeling really…"

"Me too. I'm worried about…"

"There must be something we can…"

"…been so long since he's had someone to…"

"I know some girls. Nice girls who…"

"Nice for Mark? You know…"

"Yeah. I know. Maybe…"

Mark stepped back from the door, his heart seeming to be pushed tightly against his chest. So they worried about him? Pitied him? Mimi wanted to set him up? He snorted. Roger was right. It would be doubtful if any of her friends were "nice, for him". Mark wondered why, amidst all the creativity and art that surrounded him in this city, he hadn't found someone as passionate as Maureen, but calming like…Roger? A strange comparison in the context, but true. Mark wanted someone he could trust. Not Maureen. Someone he felt he could be completely himself around. Not Maureen. Someone who would appreciate him, his ideas…not Maureen.

Somewhere inside the apartment, the phone began to ring.


	2. Voice Mail 1

**_Speeeaaaak._**

_Hola, seniors and senoritas! Roger, Mimi…and Mark, of course! Tonight Joanne is throwing this party thing for- what, Joanne? I…oh, excuse me. Not a "party". An "open house". She's trying to reel in some clients. There will be food, and I know how much you guys need food- Mark's arms are looking scrawnier than usual! I wanted- we wanted to put the invite out there. See you at seven, our place. Muah!_


	3. Fresh Air 2

Mimi cleared the message from the machine. "Are we going, babe?"

Roger shrugged and smiled. "Sure. Mark isn't the only one getting scrawny. Although…" he ran a hand over Mimi's fishnet-clad thigh, "I'm not sure how well some of us will fit in with lawyers and their clients."

She lowered herself from the arm of the sofa to Rogers lap and touched his cheek. "I could wear a khaki skirt and some Doc Martins."

Roger kissed her lightly. "Not necessary."

Mimi wound one of Roger's soft curls around her finger. Was it her imagination, or were they getting thinner? No…he really was getting worse. The thought made it feel like her insides were ripping, but she couldn't let on that she was aware of his decline. Roger would know how much she was worrying, and then would worry in turn; that he was upsetting her, making her unhappy. Mimi didn't want Roger to concern himself with any of that. Not ever- but especially not now.

The door slid open and Mark stepped inside, pouting. Not that this was unusual for Mark. These days, it seemed all he did was pout. Mimi refrained from sighing. She loved Mark- she really did. But a big part of her wished she could steal Roger away. The two of them could go someplace in the mountains, maybe. In a little cabin, just them and the blue sky. No choking pollution, choking crowds of people…

It was nice to dream.

"Mark, Maureen called," Roger said.

"I heard."

"Are you coming?"

Mark shook his head. "I don't think so. Not really my crowd."

"What, not enough pigeons?"

"I'd rather pigeons."

"I'd rather you come with us and eat. Think of it, Mark- food that didn't come from a vending machine…"

Mark smirked. "I'll think about it."

Mimi continued to play with Roger's hair, staring at Mark steadily. He was looking at them uncomfortably, like there was something he wanted to say. The expression on his face reminded her of a child she'd seen once, lost in the grocery store.

"You okay, Mark?" she asked, trying to sound gentle. He shook himself slightly, coming out of whatever reverie he had been in, and headed back for the door.

"I just need some fresh air."

"You've been outside all morning!" Roger called; but Mark had already slid the door shut.

"Exit, stage left," Roger mumbled. He coughed once, then swallowed hard. "I…think I could use a nap. The heat is making me tired."

Mimi didn't comment on the fact that Roger was wearing a heavy jacket in seventy degree weather. She kissed him again, longer this time.

"I'll be here when you wake up."

Roger smiled faintly, then went into the bedroom. Mimi crossed her legs, propping her chin in her folded hands. The silence was almost overwhelming. She stared at the stack of books on the coffee table and sighed. Joanne was helping her pay for school; the least she could do was try and make an effort. Mimi grudgingly slipped onto the floor and pulled a text book onto her lap, knowing in the back of her mind that she'd rather be dancing.


	4. Tuition

Mark walked outside, gulping at the fresh air. Why did he suddenly feel so feverish, claustrophobic? It was like ninth grade all over again. He started walking, his feet moving on their own accord, not really taking him anywhere specific. A breeze ruffled his hair. It would have been refreshing in the thick humidity if scattered trash hadn't blown against his legs in the process, bringing with it the smell of piss and beer. Mark grimaced. He slowly brought his video camera to his face. Maybe the world would look better through the lens, like it always used to. Like he counted on it doing.

Everything was a little smaller. Compact, neat, ordered in a way that was easier to understand. There- that couple standing under the awning. There- those leaves falling, like orange and green rain. There- construction workers knocking a hole in the concrete. There- trees…

Mark lowered his camera slightly, realizing he'd made it into Central Park. It was a world apart from the rest of New York City. Happy people laughing and playing. Relaxing under the trees, on the lush green grass. There- a family picnic. There- an old woman feeding the birds. There- a game of soccer. There- solitary, on a bench…

Mark stopped walking, completely frozen where he stood. He wasn't worried about seeming like a weirdo stalker. The girl was too immersed in her book to notice him staring. A shaft of sunlight fell through a gap in the tree she sat under, ethereal on her light auburn hair. Her features were soft, eyes round; the entire face was a portrait of serenity. Mark zoomed in past the simple red sweater, the denim skirt.

When her eyes moved from the page to his face, Mark noticed they were green, a shade somewhere between grass and celery.

And then it struck him that he was standing in a public place, watching a woman through his video camera. The realization made Mark fumble. He quickly caught the video camera before it hit the ground, and then deliberated quickly. Should he apologize? Should he run away?

Mark gritted his teeth and trotted forward. "Um, hi. Look, I wasn't- I mean, I don't want you to think I'm- see, you were just…"

"Sarah." She extended one long fingered hand. Mark shook it awkwardly, using the wrong arm.

"Mark."

Sarah scooted over. "Why don't you take a minute to calm down? It doesn't look like you want to drop that camera."

Though her eyes were sparkling and her mouth twitched with a badly concealed grin, Mark felt as if there was something more scrutinizing in her gaze. He sat down and fidgeted with a fraying string on his pants.

"Ah. Yes. Thank you." As much as he wanted to make eye contact, something prevented him. Mark had the strangest sensation that she was inspecting him, maybe measuring him up against someone or something. He felt like a bug stuck to cardboard; what was there to inspect? He might as well have been an insect.

"Are you a filmmaker, Mark?"

Her voice was sweet. Mark liked his name on her lips, probably more than he should have. More than he wanted to.

"Aspiring," he said with a faint smile. "Aspiring filmmaker."

In New York, at his age, those words might as well have been "Failed Filmmaker Who'll Never Get a Break".

Sarah squinted at him. "How old are you?"

Mark felt himself blush and quickly looked back at his knee. "Twenty six. A little old to be just aspiring, I know."

Fingers gently touched his shoulder. Mark looked into Sarah's face and could see she felt bad about having struck a nerve.

"Mark, I'm twenty-seven and have only ever sold one painting. I know all about," she cracked a smile, "aspiring to be inspiring."

Mark couldn't help but smile back.

"You're an artist?"

Sarah sighed. "I try. Between working two jobs to pay the high cost of living, plus my daughter's tuition…I just don't have time anymore."

Mark felt a drooping in his stomach. What had he been so hopeful about? It made sense that a sweet, beautiful person would be happily taken. He should have just politely said goodbye and left, but he wanted to hear her musical voice just a little longer.

"There are lots of public schools around," he offered.

"I know how it was for me. I wouldn't subject Haley to that."

Sarah glanced at her watch and sighed, breath stirring a loose piece of hair. Despite the circumstances, Mark had to look away to hide his grin. He thought she was probably the most adorable thing he'd ever seen.

"Speaking of which, I have to go pick her up now."

She glanced at him, and there was a kind of caution in her eyes. Like she was waiting for, or expected, something unpleasant.

"I can help you get a cab," Mark hedged, almost desperately. There was something about her presence. Something…different. Probably because he was used to girls like Maureen and Mimi. He had no idea exactly what he was expecting. She was married with a kid, possibly more than one. What did Mark have to offer?

_A friend? _The question popped into his mind, saturating the folds of his brain. Maybe…yes. If it meant being around her, hearing her speak. A friend would be fine. Mark tried to keep any bitter thoughts at bay for as long as possible.

"Want to carry my books to my next class, too?" Sarah asked, a shrewd look on her face.

Mark blushed again and laughed nervously. "I don't know. I wouldn't want your husband to stick me in a locker."

"Oh, I'm not married," Sarah said airily.

Mark glanced around him. Was the sky always this blue?

"Oh, well, in that case…" He reached over and took Sarah's purse, slinging it over his shoulder. Then he slipped the novel from her fingers.

Sarah laughed. "Thanks, Anthony Michael Hall."

They walked out of the park in easy silence. Mark glanced at Sarah whenever he could, wracking his brain for a new, non-embarrassing conversation starter. Then he would have a good excuse to look at her….

Mark liked Sarah's nose.

"Where do you suffer 9-5?"

Mark jumped. "Oh…I'm currently unemployed."

"Ah, that would explain the sound I heard."

"Sound?"

"Your belly." Sarah poked him in the stomach and laughed. Mark rubbed the spot.

"It's been awhile," he admitted. "I'm even starting to miss my mother's galuptzi."

"Ha! Oh, goodness. Thank god for Walgreens. I can cheaply maintain my fancy diet of macaroni and cheese and Oscar Myer Wieners."

"It's better than Cracker Jacks."

"You could come for dinner," Sarah suggested.

"Oh, I wouldn't want to impose."

Mark wanted very, very badly to impose. Then again, maybe _impose _was the wrong word. Mark wanted very, very badly to be _welcomed._

"You won't. My eight year old can probably eat more than you."

She prodded him in the stomach again, and this time he poked back.


	5. Sorry About That

"Excuse me, son- can you hold this for just a second?"

The little old woman blinked up at Collins, a smile on her face.

"Oh…yes, of course."

She handed Collins her purse and began digging through a brown paper bag. Crowds of people were pushing past, as usual on the subway platform. Collins was used to being jostled, having his shoulders knocked and his feet stepped on. What he _couldn't _get used to was things like this happening. Elderly ladies asking him to hold their purses and groceries, frazzled mothers leaving him with crowded strollers to take a quick bathroom break, business men asking him for advice on their stocks, single ladies and flamboyant homosexuals getting his opinion on fabrics and color schemes and ties and dresses and…

In a city like New York, you don't trust strangers. Not with your belongings, not with your kids, not even for an opinion. But for the past two years, everyone trusted _him_. Sometimes Collins felt like a messiah. Complete strangers from every walk of life approached him on the street, a reassured gleam in their eye. Like he was their saving grace.

Like he was their guardian angel.

When all of it first began, Collins was bemused, and even a little scared. What was going on? When had all this started? _How_ had all this started? And then, of course, when the answer came to him he felt like a complete jackass for not realizing it before.

All of it had begun after Angel's death.

This understanding had hit him like a silver bullet, and abruptly ended his mourning. Of course Collins still missed his lover, his shelter; with every breath he missed Angel. Every sunrise and sunset he imagined her face, her touch, her infectious laugh. But the gut gripping, soul splitting, mind-rotting grief that had consumed him was suddenly gone. Life became bright again as soon as he realized something stunning in its glory: _Angel was not gone. _She, and all her graciousness and ability to love, had shed its body of flesh and stayed inside of Collins. He covered it, covered her, like a glove. That explained why people seemed to seek him out. Why he was suddenly so perfect for his position as guidance councilor at the high-school that now employed him. Collins was on fire with the spirit of an angel.

In a city like New York, though, it was still hard to get used to.

"EEEEYYYYAAAHHHH!"

Collins didn't have time to blink before he was pushed against the cracking tile wall. A weight was on his back. A person? There were legs wrapped around his torso, yes, and it had undeniably been a human's battle cry. But Collins felt that it was less of a person and more of a tiger that clawed at his skin and plummeted him with nails and fists. And then, of course, he tried to think of how to get away. This was difficult, though, when his head was getting repeatedly banged against a wall.

"YOU DIRTY, PURSE SNATCHING BASTARD! IT'S SCUM LIKE YOU THAT-"

"Oh, miss! Miss, wait, please! He wasn't stealing my bag! He was holding it for me!"

The old woman's shaky voice was like a hymn of salvation. Collins was freed from the tiger's vice-like grip. He slipped to the ground.

The old woman smiled kindly and took her purse back from Collins.

"Thank you, dearie. Have a wonderful day."

"Urgh."

Collins wiped the blood from his cheek and glanced up at his attacker.

A tall, thin woman was standing with her hands on her hips. She had pale skin and the reddest, wildest mane of red hair he'd ever seen. Her expression was serious, even a little sour, and one brow was raised over the brown eyes that matched her freckles. Collins was surprised to see she'd managed to jump on his back in a green sundress.

"Sorry about that. I thought you were a dirty, purse snatching bastard."

"So I've heard." Collins stood up, gently touching his face. He'd had worse.

"I'm Katherine."

He thought her name was ironic. It was a little classy for someone who'd just attacked him like a jungle animal.

"Collins. Tom Collins."

"Well, since I've got your attention…" she began, sighing. "I haven't been to New York in almost three years. Can you help me find Alphabet City?"

"Sure. Anywhere specific?"

"Actually, yes. Avenue A."

Katherine handed him a much-abused slip of paper. The address was written in a messy scrawl, and Collins was surprised to see the familiar number combination. Obviously it showed on his face.

"You know it?" Lily asked.

"You're looking for…"

"Angel Schunard. _Dumott_ Schunard."

Collins thought for a second. _Katherine. _The name definitely rang a bell. Had Angel ever…

"You're Kitty Kat!"

Katherine's stoic face lit up. "Yes! You must be Collins!"

Collins half expected her, like most women would, to throw her arms around him for a hug in her exuberance. But instead she grabbed his hand and shook it enthusiastically. Her grip was as tight as a man's.

"Yes, I am…how did you know?"

"When Angel came here, I also moved- to Africa, to do missionary work. Well, it wasn't really a _religious _thing, per se; I wanted to travel, and I wanted to help. But anyway- I called Angel once, the first time I had phone access. The conversation didn't last long, and all she could talk about was her new 'delicious man friend.' You look like she described- well, almost."

"Almost?"

"According to her you had the 'hands of a lumberjack' and could 'work a sword like a samurai'."

Collins laughed. That sounded like Angel.

"I don't know about all of that. But it's nice to meet you. I've heard good things."

Katherine smiled again and began walking towards the exit that would take her towards Alphabet City.

"You're going the wrong way," Collins said.

"No I'm not. I'm almost positive the Lower East Side is over there."

"The church isn't in Lower East."

Katherine froze. "The church?"

Collins mirrored her rigid stance. "When was the last time you talked to Angel?"

Katherine turned around slowly, a growing look of horror on her face.

"Just that once. It was hard to get a hold of a phone…why do we have to go to the church?"

Collins looked at his feet. He heard a muffled sob. When he glanced up again, Katherine had a hand over her mouth, and tears were spilling from her eyes.

"Oh my god…" she murmured.

Collins wanted to reach out and comfort her, but unconsciously knew this was probably a bad idea. He'd probably just get hit again.

"Maybe you need some time alone?"

Katherine nodded and violently sniffed. "Can we meet later?" she asked thickly. "I want to hear all about…about what happened."

"Do you know where to find the Life Café?"

She nodded again. "I think I remember."

Without another word or glance, Katherine walked away. Collins felt his heart drumming painfully. One hand rose, almost on its own accord, to clutch his chest. Seeing the pain in Katherine's eyes reminded him of his own. Not only that, but he felt terribly guilty. Katherine had been looking forward to a happy reunion with an old friend, but was instead surprised with the knowledge of a gravestone.


	6. Fresh Air 3

_**Long time no post! I've missed it. Enjoy the unprecedented double narrative. :)**_

Mimi roughly brushed a hand over her eyes and stared at the street below. She was sitting cross-legged on the emergency exit, her hands wrapped around the metal bars that put her in mind of a prison. She shook her head in frustration. Mimi had never been much of a crier. Tears made her angry and disappointed in herself- especially when shed over pointless things. This was one of those extremely rare times. The shower had just started, so Mimi knew she had at least another five minutes to pull herself together. She breathed in deeply the fresh air Mark was so fond of and went back inside to face the pathetic pile of clothes thrown on the sofa. Mimi had been trying unsuccessfully for the past hour to put together an outfit that would be suitable for Joanne's open house. Regardless of what Roger said, she felt the strong need to look presentable. It hurt her in a surprisingly deep way that none of the clothing she owned fell into that category. Not for the first time Mimi felt like complete, worthless trash. It bothered her more than usual.

The water stopped. Mimi quickly gathered her clothes into a pile and shoved them into the plastic laundry bin at her feet. The pain in her heart receded as the bathroom door opened. She couldn't help but feel immediately at ease whenever Roger entered the room after even the shortest absence. He was wrapped in a towel that did nothing to help dry the hair dripping down around his face. Mimi walked up to him with a smile, and touched his face.

"Yuck. You need to shave."

Roger grabbed her around the waist and pulled her against his chest.

"And dry off!" she said with a laugh, trying to escape his iron grip. The act was, of course, unconvincing. He rubbed his stubbly cheek against her smooth one.

"Why?"

"Because you're making me itch."

"Well, we can't have that, can we?" he said seriously. With one swift jerk he fell backwards onto the sofa, pulling her with him. Mimi laughed and struggled against his wet skin. He shook his head and kissed her firmly on the mouth.

"Not so fast. We have…" Roger glanced at the clock on the wall, "seventeen minutes before we have to leave. Just enough time."

Mimi snorted. "Enough time for what? I mean, you only need about four…"

"That," Roger said, "is because I'm skilled."

She raised an eyebrow. "Skilled or uncontrolled?"

"I'll show you uncontrolled," he said with a laugh, running his fingers quickly over her stomach's bare skin under the faux-silk robe. She wiggled away from the tickling sensation and grabbed his face, distracting him with a long kiss.

Roger pulled away after a few minutes with a contented sigh. "We really should get dressed; I don't think this is a nudist's gathering."

"No- the party is Joanne's, not Maureen's," Mimi said with a laugh. It quickly died as she stared meekly at her pile of clothes. Roger noticed.

"What's wrong, babe?"

She shrugged against his embrace. "I just…can't decide on an outfit."

He understood the meaning in her words. "Now now darlin', we all know the experienced fashionista I am. Allow me to do the honors."

Mimi rolled her eyes at Roger, but as he bent down to dig through her clothes, she allowed her teary gaze to soften with admiration, thankfulness, and love. She'd never been taken care of before in her life like this, and the feeling is one she'd never get used to or grow tired of.

"Is this a dress or a skirt?"

Roger straightened up, a shapeless rectangle of stretchy black fabric in one hand.

"Dress," Mimi said, clearing the thickness in her throat.

"Hmm…hold on a sec."

He sprinted into Mark's bedroom, the towel around his waist sagging comically. After a few moments of audible digging he emerged with a white button up shirt.

"Here, put this on."

Mimi dropped her robe coyly, still enjoying the admiring look Roger gave her naked body. She pulled on a black undershirt, then the white one. It was a little snug in the chest, but fit otherwise. Mark really _was _scrawny. Mimi rolled up the sleeves to the elbow then, under Roger's instruction, slipped the dress on up to her waist. It fit snuggly, like a pencil skirt.

"How does it look?"

"Hmm." Roger was rubbing his chin, a glint in his eyes.

"What?" Mimi smoothed the skirt nervously.

"You look like a secretary."

"Oh. Let me change then…"

"No, no!" Roger grinned. "It's sexy."

He pulled her against him and whispered, "Now we just need a wooden desk that I can sweep the papers from and do you on."

Mimi chuckled against his neck. "I would be more impressed with this whole business scenario if you weren't still in a towel."

There was a pause.

"Oh. Right."

Roger pulled away and smiled sheepishly. "I'll go change."

"Sure, boss," Mimi said with a wink. When he was gone she quietly walked into Mark's bedroom, past the shelf of Star Wars action fingers and stopping at his full length mirror. She gasped slightly. Never before had she went out in something so concealing, yet…Roger was right. Mimi felt sexy in the knee length skirt and long sleeved, mostly buttoned shirt. It was surprising. It also made her feel very, very good.

* * *

After nearly twenty minutes of waiting in front of the big, brick building a shrill bell sounded.

"Sorry about this," Sarah apologized. "There was an assembly today."

Mark shrugged. "I don't mind. The conversation was…informative."

Sarah snorted with laughter. "I still can't believe you got me to tell those old high-school stories. Especially the trampoline one."

Mark grinned. "That was my favorite."

Children in navy blue and grey uniforms poured out of the school and onto the front lawn, climbing into their parents' expensive cars or, in some cases, taxis. Mark stared in slight bemusement. The sight of so many kids was nearly terrifying. He'd never been particularly good with them; and it wasn't because of any dislike. He simply never knew what to say. It was worth it, though. The past forty-eight minutes and ten…eleven…seconds had been the best he'd ever had since- well, Mark wasn't going to think about that, not while he was floating on some cloud much higher into the two digit numbers than nine.

Then something across the street caught his eye. Mark had to look twice. What was _he_ doing in this area? Mark waved and called. Collins glanced up with a preoccupied expression on his face. He extended his hand in acknowledgment and continued with his slouching walk.

"You know him?" Sarah asked in an awed voice.

"Yeah, we go way back," Mark replied in surprise. "Do you?"

Sarah looked confused. "Yes…yes, I do. A couple of days ago I left my keys in the grocery store. That man waited with my bags while I got them back…I'd forgotten until now."

Mark raised an eyebrow. "You left your groceries with a stranger?"

Sarah smiled faintly, still looking awed. "He wasn't a stranger. Not really. And you're his friend!"

When she glanced back at him, there was a peaceful expression etched on her features that Mark had never seen caused by a barrel-chested black man dressed like a homeless rogue. But then again, Collins had been different lately. Nothing Mark could pinpoint specifically; there was simply an odd look in his eye.

He shrugged this development away as a newer one arrived in the form of a skinny blonde girl. Her pigtails were messy, but she had a stare that was shockingly serious for a child that age. This was obviously Haley; the child eyeing him up was like a smaller version of her mother.

Sarah kissed her daughter on the forehead and wrapped an arm tightly around her shoulders.

"Honey," she began. "This is Mark. He's going to eat dinner with us tonight."

"Er…hi." Mark said, smiling awkwardly. The little girl looked at her mother in a way that clearly said – _Really? Him? _She surprised Mark by extending a hand. He shook it- Hayley's grip was firm and purposeful.

The three walked to the bus stop and sat on the graffitied bench. Mark found himself feeling extremely nervous. The look Hayley was giving him was piercing, judgmental. He could tell that she was sizing him up, even more fiercely than her mother had earlier in the day.

Sarah finished questioning Hayley about her day at school. In the growing silence Mark asked, "So…how old are you?"

"Seven," Hayley answered. "But I'm almost eight," she added threateningly.

"In November," Sarah said with a smile. So quick that Mark almost didn't notice, a cloud passed over her face. It was gone before he could question it.

The bus ride was surprisingly quick, with Sarah chatting amiably. She was definitely a babbler once Mark got her started, and he didn't mind one bit. She shaped every detail with her lovely hands, entrancing him with the flow of words and the curve of her lips. He remained, though, under the watchful eyes of the seven year old. Mark couldn't help but wonder in the back of his mind what made the child so protective of her mother.


	7. A Lost Conversation

The rain came out of nowhere. All day Collins had been admiring the blue sky, basking in its endless splendor. He tried to do that more often now- appreciate the immaterial things around him and joy in life. Today, though, joy had been hard to come by. Every corner he turned, Collins imagined that he saw a wisp of black hair or a glimpse of brightly sheathed calf. He walked and walked, even when the sun dimmed and water drenched him.

Collins realized it was getting dark and changed his route toward the Life Café. He chose a booth in the back and ordered a tea, waiting in painful silence.

"Sorry I'm late."

Collins jumped. He'd been so absorbed in his own miserable thoughts that Katherine's initial arrival had gone unnoticed. She wore a light black sweater over the same green sundress, but the rain had flattened her hair and made her resemble more of a drowned cat than a tiger.

"Two beers," she called to a passing waiter.

"Oh, thanks but no thanks. I have a-"

"They're for me," Katherine said, looking at Collins archly.

"Oh."

_So much for being a kitten._

"How are you holding up?"

Katherine removed her sweater. She was extremely pale for someone who'd been in Africa for years- white as milk and lightly freckled.

"As good as can be expected, what with finding out my best friend is dead."

She said this matter-of-factly as her beers arrived, and took a long swig of the first.

"You seem…"

"Okay?"

"No; composed." Collins didn't want to belittle the woman's suffering, but she certainly was no longer the shocked and tearful woman of that afternoon.

Katherine shrugged her thin shoulders.

"Death doesn't scare me. I went to the hotel and just thought, for a long time. To Angel, life was this grand adventure. I assume she saw dying the same way. I'm only sad for me, that I couldn't say goodbye."

Collins blinked away tears. She was right.

"It was AIDs," he said. "We both had it, which made things easier; but hard too."

Katherine nodded. "Did she suffer long?"

"Not long."

She sighed. "Overseas I saw so many people who lived in constant agony- a slow death. Was Angel happy?"

"Yes; both of us were."

"Good."

And then, unexpectedly, Katherine laughed.

"You are _such_ her type."

"Oh?"

"Ironically enough, Angel hated flamboyant men. She liked them deep voiced and strong."

Collins smiled at the compliment, and at the pleasant memories that surfaced because of it. "Tell me about her in high school. I've always been curious, but she didn't talk about it much."

Katherine took another sip of beer. "That's because of Tai Williams."

"Who was he?"

The name sounded familiar, but Collins couldn't remember where he'd heard it. The memory nagged at the edges of his mind, like something dreamt but not seen. It was almost like déjà vu, and he inwardly shrugged.

"A boy who was different. Tai played in the school band, excelled in school- especially art. But he had little to no friends, especially after an incident at the end of his freshman year that would traumatize him for a long time. Tai fell in love- with a boy who seemed to share his affection, loved him for the first time…then exposed him to everyone; ripped off the closet door, so to speak, and pushed him out into the open. Took his virginity then laughed about it. Tai became a complete social outcast. This was a small town, the suburbs, a close-knit Catholic community, and no one understood. No one approved. He tried to talk to his parents, but they were sickened by him. For two years he was without any companionship whatsoever; he was taken to therapy, forced to try medical treatment…

Then one day a girl moved to town. She had been home-schooled her entire life and was finding out the hard way that the world didn't revolve around her and people didn't care- except for one."

No wonder Angel had never talked about her adolescence. Collins lowered his face to his hands. He was more in awe than ever at the ability Angel had had to influence those around her with optimism and hope. Tears fell from his eyes- Collins was overcome with sorrow and joy, all at once. A soft hand touched his briefly, fingers calloused at the tips. He realized that this one show of comfort probably had taken a lot of effort on Katherine's part. Collins was calmed, and grateful.

* * *

"Mimi! Roger!"

Maureen pushed her way through a group of women in cocktail dressed to throw her arms exuberantly around the couple. Joanne quickly followed, briefly excusing herself and her girlfriend to the irked lawyers. Symphonic music played from strategically placed speakers around the spacious apartment, a quiet background to the murmur of conversation and clinking wine glasses.

"….and you should have been there! The Bahamas were _beautiful, _Mimi, just beautiful. So many bright colors and amazing food…"

Joanne smiled at the silent Roger. She was disconcerted to see that he looked thinner than the last time they'd met, about a month ago, and pale. Mimi looked healthy, if underfed. Had she lied about finding a paying job? The two of them looked malnourished. Maureen didn't seem to notice- big surprise. Her stream of chatter seemed to pass through one ear of Mimi's then out the other. The younger woman looked extremely uncomfortable, and Joanne herself cringed at the outfit; an attempt to look professional, with far too much cleavage and fishnet to execute the look. Mimi would have been better off going with a simple strappy dress, Joanne thought. Then it occurred to her that this piece of clothing might not have even been available. She blushed in sympathy.

"Where's Mark?" Joanne finally asked. Roger shrugged.

"He disappeared sometime earlier today. I don't know where he went, but I told him about the party."

The extreme comparison between his home and Joanne's made Roger feel incredibly embarrassed, although no one had brought up the subject. He looked around, eying the creamy carpet and mint green walls, tables stacked with _**hor**_**'**_**dourves**_he didn't know the name of, and the classy, well-dressed guests. It was all so much.

Finally Maureen stopped talking. Whether to let someone else have a turn or to take a breath, Roger didn't know. Before he could comment on the splendor of the party, Joanne asked pleasantly, "How's the job, Mimi?"

Roger could almost feel her muscles clenched. He looked at the drink in his hand, not wanting to meet anyone's eye.

"Oh…it's great, Jo. My manager is really nice."

"Macy's, right?"

"Right."

"I'll have to stop by and visit sometime. What's your department?"

Mimi waved offhandedly. "They move me around a lot. We're a bit understaffed."

The women continued to banter, thankfully no longer about Mimi's employment. Roger ground his teeth together. _Or lack thereof. _Why had she lied to Joanne in the first place? Before she'd left for vacation, the lawyer had offered to help Mimi find a job, but she'd declined, saying she'd already found a permanent position. Roger sighed. Mimi was proud- probably more so than him- and stubborn. Joanne was already paying for Mimi to take nighttime college classes. Even that was unnecessary in Mimi's eyes, and doing more would have been unbearable.

Maureen downed a flute of champagne.

"I'm so glad you guys could come. I've been bored half to death."

It was true. God, if one more of these worshipers of The Man commented on her leather pants, or her too tight silk shirt- with the attempt of being polite but so obviously showing the sneers behind their fake grins and raised eyebrows- Maureen would slaughter one with a quick swipe of her beauty parlor nails. Of course Joanne took offense- she was _always _so sensitive.

"These are my friends, Maureen. I'm sorry they're not quite _avante garde_ enough for your taste."

"These people wouldn't know good art if art shoved its dick up their ass."

"Were you not there when we went to the opera?"

"Oh, excuse me. The _opera._" Maureen laughed again. "These people can try all they want to-"

"_I'm one of these people." _Joanne's teethed were clenched, and the veins on the side of her neck were protruding. She was about to grab Maureen's arm, excuse them from Mark and Mimi, hiss that they needed to talk about…

No. Joanne was tired of pulling Maureen from her crass words and bad behavior.

"Pookie…"

She ignored her girlfriend, turned around, and lost herself in the crowd.

* * *

"The thing that makes me saddest is that we didn't get to talk…before. It's almost like all the things we could have said and remembered and promised exist somewhere over our heads – a lost conversation just floating there, in the stars."

Collins thought that this spiel would have been even more touching had Katherine's words not been slurring together. Though he'd stuck to the iced tea, she'd upgraded from beer to wine. He tried not to laugh at the bread crumbs that stuck to her dress and little pieces of that wild red hair. _At least her stomach wasn't empty._

"We had lots of time to talk, especially at the end."

Katherine was about to comment when a woman approached them. She was petite and had probably been pretty once, but stress and exhaustion had wrung her out and left her dry, worn looking and lost. The woman held a baby in her arms.

"Excuse me sir," she began timidly. "Could you hold him please, while I go the restroom?"

Collins nodded slowly and took the baby. "What's his name miss?"

"Jacob- after his father."

"And yours?"

"Annabel."

"Do you have a place to stay, Annabel?"

The woman shook her head quickly, biting her lip against the tears that were ready to spill from big blue eyes. Katherine had to hold back her own. It was like Annabel and Collins were the only two people in the room, in the world. They spoke quietly- Collins with a practiced calm, and the young woman with sorrow.

"After you finish in the bathroom I'll give you an address. I'll be there tomorrow; we can talk."

The young woman nodded, still not smiling, and kissed her baby before walking away. Collins stared silently at the child in his arms. The boy cooed and gurgled, smiling a toothless old-man grin. Collins gazed up at Katherine and his eyes were wide. She couldn't read the look there, the depth and the emotion. What was he trying to say? She would have given anything to understand.

* * *

Mimi and Roger finally escaped from the tense couple, after Maureen ran after Joanne. They eyed each other nervously, neither needing to say out loud that a scene was probable, even inevitable.

"Are you hungry? We might as well stuff ourselves while we can."

Mimi sniffed the air. It _did _smell good.

"Alright. Let me go to the bathroom first."

She kissed Roger on the nose, feeling herself finally smile at the twinkle in his eyes. Where was the bathroom? She finally noticed a cracked door, noticing a sink inside.

"Oh! I'm sorry."

Mimi had accidentally knocked a woman's drink. It didn't spill, luckily, but the statuesque blonde frowned. She mumbled another apology and slipped into bathroom, not before hearing the woman say to her friend, "What is she wearing? I didn't know it was Halloween."

The blonde's friend replied one word that seemed to seep up from under the door and fill the bathroom, making Mimi feel claustrophobic and sick.

"Slut."


	8. Tuck Me In

After jiggling the key in the lock a few times, Sarah managed to get the faded green door open. The neighborhood's relative silence unnerved Mark. To him, the skinny two story homes looked like anxious and battered soldiers, squeezed as close to each other as they could for comfort and protection. Inside though, was cozy. The furnishings were obviously secondhand, threadbare but well-tended. The stairs were only two feet from the door, and to left of them was a sofa, end table, bookshelf, and TV. Directly ahead was the kitchen, separated only by a change from carpet to tile. The clock above the stove could be clearly read from where Mark stood- five o'clock. It was small, snug, and he loved it immediately.

"Go upstairs and take a bath, sweetie." Sarah kissed Haley's head. The girl gave Mark one last _I won't forget you're down here _kind of look before running up the creaking steps.

"I'm scared."

Sarah laughed. "Don't be. She's harmless; for the most part."

He followed her into the kitchen, watching her dig through a cabinet full of mismatched pots and pans.

"Can you hand me a box of Kraft, please? They're in the pantry."

Mark opened up the door, grinning at the "kiss the cook" apron hanging there. Inside were five boxes of macaroni, one of Fruit Loops, some canned vegetables, a jar of spaghetti sauce, peanut butter, mustard, and a loaf of bread. It wasn't much, but it was more than he had back at the apartment.

"Oh! And some peas!"

Mark grinned and tossed Sarah the macaroni box. She caught it one handed, despite the fact that his aim was off and he almost knocked down a decorative plate.

"Captain of the baseball team, right?"

"It's that obvious, huh?"

Mark took it upon himself to open the peas. Sarah had put water to boil in a big silver pot and had started to place hot dogs in the toaster oven on the wall.

"She's got to be tired of this," Sarah said sadly. "But I just haven't had time to buy groceries. And I work at the Piggly Wiggly! It's just…I work most of the day, get off in time to pick up Haley, cook her a quick dinner, and then we have to stop off at the houses I clean. Usually we get back around nine, and I put her to bed. Not that I'm complaining!" she quickly added. "I just…wish I could do better for her, is all."

She handed Mark draining bowl, and he dumped the peas in.

"Don't say that. It couldn't be more obvious how hard you work. Haley's lucky."

Sarah grinned shyly. "You think so?"

Mark nodded, maybe a little too exuberantly. Without really meaning too, he moved closer. It was unfathomably nice how short Sarah was- she actually had to look up at him, which was uncommon. He swallowed nervously and almost dropped the peas.

"Definitely."

The toaster went off with a ping, and Sarah jumped. Mark coughed and, as nonchalantly as possible, poured the macaroni into the boiling water. He was no cook but, after four years of college, some talents would never fade away.

"I'd hire a babysitter to stay with Haley some night for me to go shopping, but I don't really trust anyone."

"But you've just let a complete stranger into your kitchen."

With twinkling eyes, Sarah said, "But we have a mutual friend."

Mark grinned. He'd have to remember to pay back Collins with something really, really awesome. Sarah stirred the peas, chopped hot dogs, and macaroni.

"I've always wanted to live some place where I could wake up every morning and buy my food for the day. Maybe a little loft in a pretty part of France, right by a farmer's market. Fresh vegetables, bread still warm from the oven…"

"And éclairs. Lots of éclairs."

"Of course. No day is complete without a ridiculously fattening pastry."

"No wonder mine have felt so empty lately."

Sarah laughed loudly. Despite all of her problems the sound came so easily! Mark preferred it over a whole vat of chocolate.

"Let me go check on Haley," she said, smile still lingering. Mark headed into the living room once her footsteps on the stairs had faded. He'd noticed some pictures and wanted to take a closer look. Despite all of the interesting knickknacks surrounding them, one small huddle of frames held his attention. The first was of Haley, maybe two years ago, laying beside a huge golden Labrador on someone's lawn. Her smile was gap-toothed and huge. The second was a two in one frame, decorated with hummingbirds. Mark felt a very unmasculine lump form in his throat. Sarah stood hugely pregnant in the first, the same red sweater stretched taunt over her belly. She was next to an old car, and a beach scene stretched picturesquely behind her. The one beside it was taken at Christmas time. Sarah sat in front of a twinkling tree, holding a bundle of pink blankets that only exposed Haley's small hand. Beside her was a man with movie star good looks, but none of the arrogance apparent in his grin. Tousled brown hair flopped into wide eyes of the same color. His jaw was pronounced, and it was apparent even while sitting that he was tall and muscular. He and Sarah's heads touched sweetly. The last picture was of Haley on her father's back, clinging to his neck. It seemed to have been taken mid shriek, because her mouth was wide open. Though the pair's actual physical features weren't similar, their laughs were identical. It was odd, Mark thought, how the man looked as innocent and carefree as his daughter- in this picture, even more so.

"Drew and I were high school sweethearts," Sarah whispered. Mark had been so enthralled in the photos and his own thoughts that he hadn't heard her come down the stairs. She stood close to him, and Mark found it completely unfair that someone should be allowed to smell so good.

"We moved to the city and got married after graduation. I wanted to be an artist, Drew a musician. Our parents didn't approve, and so the ceremony was just us, with a justice of the peace. But we were happy."

Sarah sighed, and Mark grabbed her hand tightly. She squeezed back.

"Three years later I had Haley. Drew started working as a teacher, which paid enough to let me stay home. I painted, spent time with my baby…we were still happy, but it was looking more and more like we'd never actually achieve what we'd come to the city for. Eventually we just accepted it, and went on with life. Fixed things with our parents, saved money. And then Drew started getting these headaches."

Her voice wavered, and Mark was scared she would start to cry. He held her hand even tighter, as if enough pressure could keep the moisture safely in her eyes.

"He died of a brain tumor a week before Haley's birthday- two years ago this November."

The silence was heavy. Mark felt the same. The tears were spilling out of Sarah's eyes now, and he wanted more than anything to reach out and dry them. Instead, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against his chest.

"It's strange how things just go on," Sarah whispered, nearly choking on her sobs. "I still miss him, so much…but the pain isn't as bad. It's like all of that happened in another life a very long time ago. I just wish Haley....they were so close."

Mark squeezed her so tightly that he was scared of hurting her. But she clung on tightly until the tears subsided.

"I'm so sorry," Sarah said. She pulled away quickly and wiped her face on her sleeve. "I haven't talked about it in so long. I just…it all came out." She cracked a small smile. "I don't have time for friends."

"Mark shook his head violently, nearly dislodging his glasses. "Don't apologize. It's fine, really. I want to listen. To anything."

Sarah bit her lip. The feeling in the air was exactly the same as it was in the kitchen, but different this time. Less awkward.

"Thank you."

"Mommy, I think the macaroni's done."

Haley was standing on the stairs, looking serious as usual. Had she heard? The sternness on her face was gone, and she looked merely…concerned, Mark though. If she hadn't their conversation than she'd probably seen the embrace, or at least her mother's tearstained face.

"Thanks baby," Sarah said. She cleared her throat and walked into the kitchen, Haley close behind. Mark ran a hand through his hair and followed.

"Do you have a lot of homework?"

"Just some spelling," Haley pouted, taking the bowl of food from her mom. Mark sat down to a bowl of his own and a glass of chocolate milk.

"It's no decadent pastry," Sarah said with a smile, joining them at the table.

"Chocolate milk? Way better!" Mark took a hearty swig, dribbling a little down his shirt.

"Ooops."

Haley laughed happily, and Mark felt that even if the war wasn't over, he'd won an important battle.

"So…" Mark coughed. "I was thinking, if you wanted me to, I could go to the store for you, while you clean. If you want."

Sarah smiled widely. "Oh, I don't want you to have to do that! But, if you wanted to…you could stay with Haley while I work. It's so chilly outside tonight- I'd love her to be able to stay inside."

"Would that be…okay?" Mark ventured. Despite its reasons, this kind of trust from a New Yorker he'd only known a few hours was extremely bemusing.

"Haley?"

The girl chewed her food slowly, staring at Mark all the while.

Finally, she shrugged. "Uh huh."

"It's settled then. How will I repay you, though?"

"No, no! Dinner was enough."

"Dinner," Sarah said with a smile, "was on the house. I'll just have to owe you."

Was that _flirtation_? God, it had been so long that Mark wasn't sure if that's what he'd heard at all. _It would be really nice, though._

After they finished eating and cleaned up the kitchen, Sarah kissed her daughter goodbye and even gave Mark a warm, if brief, hug. After she left Mark locked the door.

"So, um, what do you usually do now."

"Homework. But I don't want too."

This was definitely a challenge. If Mark let Haley abandon her work, not only would Sarah no longer trust him, but the girl would realize just how big of a pushover he really was. If he made her do it, however, she'd only get pissed and not like him. Mark struggled inwardly for a few moments under Haley's unwavering gaze, then finally said,

"Spelling, right? If we do it together we'll get finished quicker."

Haley cracked a small smile and grabbed her schoolbag from its place by the door. They sat at the kitchen table, and she pulled out a bright yellow folder, decorated with flower stickers.

"It's a worksheet. I have to put the right word in the sentence."

"Alright," Mark said. "Um…okay. The magician did a magic…"

"Trick. T-r-i-c-k."

"Right. The student will blank the ball."

"Kick. K-i-c-k."

Despite her grudging acknowledgment of spelling homework at dinner, Haley was extremely bright, and only needed a little help from Mark once. They finished after maybe fifteen minutes, at around six thirty.

"Now what?"

Haley thought for a second. "I haven't played Candy Land in a really long time."

The two dug out the game, Mark frantically thinking of ways he could let her win. This, though, was unnecessary. An hour and five games later Mark had lost over half. By his frazzled expression Haley could tell this was genuine.

"You're really bad at this," she said happily.

"It's that stupid Lolly! I _always _end up getting sent back to Mr. Mint when I'm at her place."

"Stupid is a bad word."

"Sorry."

"I won't tell."

"Thanks. I don't want you mom getting mad at me."

Haley was silent for a second, fiddling with her red plastic gaming piece.

"You like her, don't you?"

"Well yeah. Your mom is really nice."

"No," she said scathingly. "I mean, you _like her _like her."

Mark smiled at the juvenile, yet fitting, terminology.

"Can you keep a secret?"

Haley nodded quickly and scooted her chair in.

"I really, really,_ like her_ like her."

The girl nodded, and frowned.

"Does that upset you?" Mark asked.

"A little bit," Haley whispered.

"I'll go away and never come back if you want me to. Do you want me to?"

Haley shook her head, and turned her reddening face away. Mark was startled to see the same expression that Sarah had worn earlier in the evening before bursting into tears.

"What's wrong?" Mark asked frantically.

"I don't want Mommy to forget Daddy." The words spilled out of Haley's mouth, so quickly that Mark almost didn't understand them. She began to cry.

"Haley, am I skinny?"

She nodded.

"And short?"

Haley nodded again, sniffing.

"Do I look like any of the boys in your class?"

She smiled and wiped her face. "Yes. Sort of."

"So I don't look like your daddy?"

Mark felt a little bit insulted by the laughter Haley burst into. "No!"

"Then how could your mom forget your dad? He looked so much better than me."

Haley laughed so hard that she snorted. "Just different," she said.

"Is it alright if I come around again?"

"Only if we play another game," Haley said slyly.

Mark sighed. "So you can watch me lose again? Alright, fine. But I want to go first this time. You've got an unfair advantage, missy."

"You say weird things."

"Sorry."

"It's okay."

One more game turned into three. They played in companionable silence until Haley started to yawn, her mouth stretching impossibly wide.

"Bedtime?"

Haley nodded grudgingly, and Mark was pleased. She wanted to spend time with him! It made him feel good, as he'd previously had no success with children whatsoever. He felt like a real caregiver. If not a parent, than at least The Cool Uncle.

Mark followed the girl up the stairs, thankful that the master bedroom's door was closed- it would be easier to resist the urge to peek inside. Haley's room was painted bright yellow and painted with beautiful, life-like butterflies. She left him alone for a few minutes to brush her teeth, then practically stumbled back in. Mark felt unbelievably sad by the considerable lack of toys.

"You have to tuck me in," Haley said, climbing into bed. Mark sat on the edge and pulled the covers up to her chin, tucking the blankets so tight that she was stuck. With a giggle, Haley said, "I feel like a mummy."

Mark elicited another by doing his very best monster impression.

"Do you know any stories?" Haley asked, snuggling into her pillow and hugging an old, worn rabbit close.

"Um, let's see…oh, okay! Once upon a time there was a frog, who was really lonely. It hopped around all day, wishing it had a friend. One morning it met a beautiful princess, and said 'Please oh please, be my friend!' The princess had never heard a frog talk before, but she was very brave, so said yes, and picked the frog up off the ground…"


	9. Voice Mail 2

"_Joanne Jefferson here. Please leave your name, number, and the time of your call, and I'll get back to you as soon as I can."_

_ "Pookie, why are you whi-"_

_ Joanne, it's Bill. I know you just got back two days ago and expected another day off as well, but something's come up; something you should be informed about as soon as possible. We need you in the office tomorrow. Call me._


	10. Tomorrow for Lunch

Sarah readjusted the bags in her arms and opened the front door. Inside it was quiet and dark, except for the small stairwell light. On her way into the kitchen she noticed Mark, curled up on the sofa with his arms tight around a pillow. He was snoozing peacefully as a child, and had a little smile on his face. Sarah wanted to know what he was dreaming about. She set down her groceries, quickly put away the cold things, and dug out her sketch pad. It had been quite some time since anything new had been drawn inside. Sarah lit a candle to see by and settled back against the wall. As she drew, she thought.

What made Mark so immediately appealing? There was something sweet and guileless about him. Sarah could see the good heart through his eyes. And such pretty eyes, too. Blue as the cliché, metaphorical sky.

Mark shifted in his sleep, and the glasses slipped off his nose and onto the floor. Smiling to herself, Sarah crawled to the sofa and picked them up. She hesitated. In the flickering candlelight, Mark's skin was golden. His eyelashes looked like strands of silk, gently lying on his cheek. Sarah felt intrusive, somehow, watching this peaceful rest. So softly that she wasn't sure it actually happened, she touched an eyelash. Smooth as silk, just as she'd thought.

_If only._

Sarah slipped the glasses back onto Mark's face. Much to her alarm, his eyes fluttered open. Sarah dropped her hands to her lap, though trying to look casual still wouldn't account for why she was so close to his face.

"Hi," Mark whispered groggily.

"Hi."

* * *

The streets felt strangely silent, even for a Thursday night. Maybe it was because Mimi had been staring stonily forward for the entire walk home. What had he done? Roger racked his brain, trying to remember any accidentally rude comment. Nothing came to mind. He adjusted the messenger back on his shoulder, the one he'd borrowed from Mark. It was filled with the least messy food he could find, wrapped in napkin. Even though Roger was sure no one had seen him do it, and Joanne wouldn't have minded anyway, the embarrassment made his cheeks flush. They needed stuff to eat so it was necessary, but that made Roger feel even worse. Maybe Mimi had seen him, and that's why she was upset. She was ashamed to be with him.

Roger stopped walking and turned to Mimi, grasping her thin shoulders in his hands. It was getting colder, and their breathe was white in the October air.

"Babe, what's wrong? What did I do?"

Mimi shook her head quickly and bit her lip, obviously fighting away tears.

"You didn't do anything."

"Then why do you look so…depressed?"

Much to his surprise, Mimi burst out laughing

"Oh, great. Now what? Is there something in my teeth?"

Mimi just shook her head, still caught in an uncontrollable giggle fit.

"Your face! You looked like a lost puppy."

She grinned and wrapped her arms around Roger's neck, kissing his nose.

"Cold." She licked it. "And wet."

They continued on in a more comfortable silence, hands intertwined, but Roger knew that whatever Mimi had on her mind was still there. Why couldn't she talk to him about it? He had the unnerving sensation that he was becoming his father, and the thought terrified him. Roger didn't know what made the next words roll off his tongue. So easy, too, as if they were really true.

"I wanted to save it as a surprise, but I can't wait any longer. I've called some old friends, who've talked to some friends…and we've got a gig."

This time Mimi stopped walking, her face bright with elation.

"Oh, baby!"

She threw her arms around his neck a second time, kissing him much thoroughly than before. Roger's heard thudded painfully. Such an unnecessary lie, one that would surely lead to disaster. But to see Mimi this thrilled…it was almost worth it. And after all, how hard would getting a band together be? He'd done it once before. He'd done lots of things under pressure. As Roger opened the door of their apartment and Mimi coquettishly dropped her coat, he realized that maybe he'd still been hiding. Even after what the last two years had taught him about seizing the day and living as if there was no tomorrow, his own insecurity had kept him inside- and poverty was hardly an excuse.

Mimi kicked off her heels and pushed Roger against the wall.

"Can I be your groupie, Syd Barrett?" she growled, running her hands over his chest and unbuttoning his shirt. He grabbed her hips.

"Only if you ask nicely."

Mimi pulled off Roger's shirt and trailed kisses down his neck and hard nipples and flat stomach, until she wordless and effectively asked _very_ nicely.

* * *

Katherine stopped walking near the hotel building.

"This is it."

Collins eyed the place distrustfully. A man sat on the curb smoking a crystal meth pipe, and hookers congregated on the corner. Alphabet City wasn't British Columbia, but at least the squatters didn't have suspiciously gun shaped bumps in their jacket pockets.

"Absolutely not."

Katherine raised her eyebrows in amusement. "I'd love to stay in the Hilton, but this was the cheapest thing I could find. What would you suggest?"

What _was _he suggesting? Collins didn't want Angel's best friend to be murdered in a stairwell, but on the other hand…inviting her back to his place would be awkward at best and completely inappropriate at worst. Luckily, Katherine saved him the trouble of answering.

"If you're having some misguidedly chivalrous thoughts about taking up on the sofa so I can stay in your bed, I'll have to say no. Really Tom, I'm a big girl. I've survived territorial tribe wars and very angry monkeys. This is a piece of cake."

Though Collins wanted to ask about the monkeys, he was more concerned with trying to figure out a way for Katherine to be sensible. He had to do it tactfully, too, without sounding like he wanted a lay.

"But this place is…dirty."

Katherine laughed. "And so is Africa! It's _fine. _If it makes you feel any better I can call you tomorrow morning and let you know that I've survived the night."

"Thank you."

"No problem, dad," Katherine teased. "We could get breakfast?"

"I actually have work in the morning, but you could always meet me for lunch."

"Where do you work?"

"Jackson High, a few blocks over."

"A teacher?"

"Guidance councilor."

"I can see it, unfortunately for the children," Katherine said with a smile. "I'll be there at…"

"Twelve."

"Twelve it is."

Katherine walked towards the cloudy glass doors, but first she turned around, a very small grin on her face.

"Really. Thank you, Tom."

Collins shrugged. He wanted to say something else, but what was there?

"Not a problem, Katherine. Sleep tight."


	11. Waiting

_Fun fact: this bit with Roger was the first thing I ever wrote after deciding to try a Rent fanfiction. I just had to find a place to make it work. :)_

Soft, white moonlight fell over the bed like wax paper, or maybe cellophane. Roger turned over on his side, muffling his coughs in a fist-full of blanket. Mimi was an extremely heavy sleeper- Roger had, through lengthy experimentation, discovered that the most effective way to wake her up was by running his lips over her collarbone while tickling her side. She'd spring up almost immediately, laughing and swatting him playfully. But he still wanted to be cautious. Roger's coughing fits were getting worse; awful, racking coughs that shook his thinning frame and made his insides shudder. He didn't want to worry Mimi. Not now, with her finally taking a turn for the better. She had so much hope. Roger didn't want to be the one to shatter it.

Sometimes, late at night, when his desperate gasping for air pulled him from sleep, Roger wondered how much time he had left. A month of constant worry? Four months? A year? One of the only things keeping him from ending the unwanted suspense was the girl lying next to him on the bed, breathing quietly and occasionally murmuring in her sleep. And maybe, though he would seldom admit it, the clumsy kid currently fumbling at the front door's lock.

Roger sat up slowly, unconsciously scratching his arm. What was Mark doing, coming in so late? It was unusual, to say the least. If it hadn't been for the clang of keys hitting the floor and that muffled curse, Roger would have suspected Collins making a late visit. He slowly crawled out of bed, shivering in only his pajama bottoms. Not the shivers of a junkie- those were long gone. Roger was simply cold. He seemed to always be cold lately, even though it was only early fall and a grey chill hadn't yet settled over the city. Roger shrugged on his leather jacket and padded into the living room. Mark jumped at the noise.

"I'm sorry. Did I wake you?"

Roger shook his head. "I can't sleep."

"The coughs?"

"Yeah."

Mark nodded and carefully set down his video camera on the counter. "I'll make you some tea. It'll help your throat."

Roger sat down on the threadbare couch and watched Mark fumble his way through the motions of putting water to boil in the kitchen. He seemed more twitchy than usual.

"Are you okay?"

"Hmm? Oh, yeah. I'm fine," he said unconvincingly.

"You were out pretty late."

Mark's grunted noncommittally. His movements were jerky; his hands seemed to be trembling. He looked like a little kid who'd done something wrong, and was nervous about getting caught. Roger's eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"Mark? What were you doing?"

He shrugged. "Oh…" Mark's voice cracked, and he cleared his throat. "You know. Stuff. The usual stuff."

"What usual stuff? You don't have a job."

Mark sighed and turned to face Roger, leaning on the counter with his arms crossed. He pouted. "You're going to laugh."

This was probably true. Roger carefully arranged his features into a serious stare. "No I won't. You know me better than that."

"I do know you. And that's exactly why I'm not telling."  
Roger smiled. "Come on, Mark. I won't have many more opportunities to hear some good stories. Indulge me."

Mark frowned. It made him obviously uncomfortable whenever Roger casually alluded to his possible death. Sometimes Roger felt bad about needlessly upsetting his best friend, but it was easier to deal with something terrible if you joked. Made it _less_ terrible, commonplace.

"Alright. I'll tell you." Mark took a deep breath. "I was with a girl."

The kettle went off with a shrill whistle, making Mark jump. Roger laughed.

Mark glared. "I knew you were going to laugh."

"No, no…this is great. Great that you're finally getting some action!"

Mark stared at his feet. "That's not even the funny part." He sighed. "We weren't

having sex."

Roger raised an eyebrow. "What were you doing?"

"I was…babysitting."

Mark glared as a Roger guffawed, the look softening as the laughs turned to coughs.

"How old was this girl?"

"Seven- but almost eight."

"Weird, even for you."

Mark shoved Roger away as he passed into the kitchen.

"I mean, there was a woman, obviously. I met her in a park, and babysat her daughter. I know it's weird…it's a long story. How was the party?"

Roger shrugged. "Just what you'd expect. There's food in the fridge."

Mark yawned widely and handed Roger the tea.

"Actually, I ate. What time is it, four? I'm going to sleep."

He patted Roger's shoulder and retreated into his bedroom. Even though it was almost morning and god only knows how long he'd been awake, Mark couldn't sleep. Sarah's face swam over his eyelids, watery and blue like an ocean reflection.

* * *

Joanne sat on the small sofa in her boss's office. She'd been waiting for nearly an hour, and thought there was a chance that her face would permanently stay in its current scowl. After a few more minutes of annoyed fidgeting, the door finally opened.

"Sorry about the wait, Jo," her boss said. Bill look anxious about something, and Joanne sat up a little straighter. "We have a new addition to the firm."

"Well…what's the problem?"

"He's brought a very interesting case with him. Not a problem, exactly, but his last firm is closing, and it's been a pain in the ass trying to get all the files."

Joanne still didn't understand why her presence was necessary. Bill obviously read this in her face. "Look Jo, you're the best we've got. I…well, to be honest, I wanted to make a good impression."

"Why? Is this lawyer some big shot I should be worried about?"

"Philip Hernandez."

Joanne remembered the last issue of Details magazine, the pretentious smirk plastered on the cover, the high-profile case feature.

"You're kidding."

"I'm afraid not."

It wasn't Bill that answered her, but the same pretentious smirk that made her earlier scowl deepen. Philip Hernandez was taller in person, and darker. Joanne stood up, and he held out his hand. She shook it firmly.

"Joanne Jefferson.

"Philip Hernandez."

She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of smiling and saying the expected, _I know. _Instead she briefly inclined her head and glanced at Bill. He knew his favorite employee well, and was therefore smiling in a strained, nervous kind of way.

"You two will be working together on the case."

"I'm sure this will be the start of a beautiful partnership," Philip said lightly, obviously not trying to hide his smug grin. Joanne didn't respond; only grinned sarcastically at Bill. _I'm sure._

* * *

Roger set down the phone for what felt like the hundredth time. Thank god Mimi was in class. He had been trying to call up old friends, old band mates. It seemed that they were all dead, had moved on and gotten a real life, or were just plain uninterested. One didn't even remember his name. Finally, absolutely dreading it, he dialed Maureen's number. It rang and rang, until a groggy voice mumbled a hello.

"It's Roger. I need a favor."

"Looking for someone to off Mark?"

"Not really. I need some contacts. People who might be willing to play some music with me. I'm…trying to start another band."

There was a moment of silence, and Roger thought that maybe Maureen was going to laugh. Instead, he heard a rustle that was probably bed sheets, and she said, "Let me call you back- I'll ask around."

Not even an hour later Roger was standing in front of a decrepit brownstone, double checking the address written on a paper towel clutched firmly in his hand. He took a deep breath, knocked...waited. Knocked again. He was just about to turn and leave in disappointment when the door opened. An older man stood there, features mostly indiscernible under his lion's mane of hair and long, scraggly beard. He wore a faded green shirt, ripped jeans, and no shoes.

"May I help you?"

The man's voice was surprisingly deep, and earthy. Roger glanced again at the now sweat-soggy paper towel.

"Um. Yes. I'm looking for Lennon O'Neil?"

"This is him. Who the hell are you?"


End file.
